Old Lady Blogging

Well, hello there! I've been thinking about getting old. The reason I've been thinking about getting old is that tomorrow I'll be 40. And pretty much, 40 is old. Even if you interview, like, 300 99-year-olds, 274 will probably admit that 40 is not young. So that's kind of weird. The being old. Not the interviewing of the 99-year-olds, although that's sort of weird too. But I didn't really do any interviews, because who has time for that? I mean, I need to get ready for my birthday celebrations, which is going to take some work because I'm old, so I only have a few minutes this morning to ruminate over my elderliness. I mean, if I were a little younger, I wouldn't have to color my hair or wrestle my mushy old-lady flesh into my spanx (must wear dress as pants don't fit again-while I wasn't blogging for the past 8 months I wasn't busy at the gym), but then again, I wouldn't need to blog about getting old, so I would have like 4 hours of free time this morning!

If I had 4 hours of free time from not blogging and not coloring and wrestling, I'd probably just waste it reading novels about crazy rich Asians, because that's what I've been doing this week. I'm on my second one, and not even by the same author. Don't misunderstand. They are not good.  I don't recommend them.  I did learn that Shenzhen is like Chinese Tijuana, but don't tell that to my sister-in-law Jane and her family, because they moved there last week.

So my birthday party starts today with lunch with some of my lady-relations at the Liberty Market. Then my visiting teachers are taking me to dinner, and then the party continues at book club tonight (although is not actual party in my honor, but official book club meeting, even though we didn't read any book and are just having a potluck. That's totally kosher behavior when you've been book-clubbing with the same ladies for 10 years. Books are optional. Also, only 40-year-olds have been in book clubs for ten years. Twenty-somethings are still maybe busy in actual clubs, looking for boys).

Tomorrow, Jake and I are going to Scottsdale for the official birthiversary festivities. (I got married on my 23rd birthday, so my 40th birthday is also my 17th wedding anniversary), where we will feast on croque monsieur at La Grande Orange, or maybe get a Kobe burger and a bananas foster milkshake at Zinburger, then go to to movies to see Way, Way Back at Camelview, maybe sift through some fancy but mildly used Italian shoes at Last Chance, then check into the Montelucia, which is so cheap is like they are begging on hands and knees for us to come over and get facials (feels financially irresponsible not to get facials; plus, am old, so need facial more than ever), then go to dinner at either BLT at Camelback Inn (because the popovers will leave you a changed woman) or to Elements at Sanctuary, which sounds good, too. And then on Saturday we will go to the spa, then stop at Sprinkles on the way home to get birthday cupcakes. I hope they have the lemon coconut.

Anyway, it is hard to be sad about turning 40 when I get to eat so much good stuff, and someone else is getting paid to squeeze my blackheads. And also, I have such great kids and Jake and parents and siblings and friends. And maybe someday, they'll say that 99 is new 40, and I'll get to do it all over again as a nonagenarian.

22nd birthday, Apartment 16 at the Riviera. Chris from Sofa, me and Jake. 81 degrees

23rd birthday, Mesa Temple. 110 degrees

39th birthday. Camelback Inn. 107 degrees

Before our pre-anniversary dinner.  Last week at Jake's Del Mar. 75 degrees

No news is good news

Hi.

Here I am, blogging right now. Look at my hair.

This is how it looked when I woke up this morning.
It felt mildly miraculous, so I didn't brush it or anything.

Fine. Is maybe possible that it looks okay because I only slept on it for four hours, as last night was book club night.

So, I'm here because of the news. Normally, I don't read the news. I know you won't think that is cool, especially if you read the news all the time. But I'll tell you, it gets me down. One of the reasons I have a history degree is that HISTORY IS OVER, and time gives us perspective and breathing room to talk without getting sweaty pits and yelling at one another, usually. In the news, everything is sold as the end of the world, but if you know your history you'll know that nothing ever really has been the end of the world. (Yet.) And if something WAS going to be the end of the world, I would bet against the news guessing that thing right.

Anyway, my news binge started with innocent googling of polls in the presidential race, and then there was some reading on how polls work, and that was really interesting. But then I got sucked into election news, and then there was Sandy! So you know, I felt like I should check that out. (Was only me being a compassionate citizen. Was nothing like rubbernecking).

But then I found out Paul Newman died. In 2008. And I was in mild mourning because he was, you know, foxy, and also, Cool Hand Luke. I mean, that was a lot of eggs, even in 1967. Plus, all the salad dressing for charity!

I was out of control. There were so many celebrities with problems. Lady Gaga has an eating disorder! That guy on How I Met Your Mother who is living with that girl who had Heath Ledger's baby had to move out of their fancy new Brooklyn apartment that got flooded, and move into their fancy old apartment that was on higher ground! The horror! So many stories about Christina Aguilera that I didn't click on, because I don't give a fig about Christina Aguilera or that guy who strokes the cat.

I even went Euro. Did you know that Sicily has 26,000 auxiliary forest rangers? And the the forests of British Colombia have fewer than 1,500? Is too many rangers, Sicily! Is an embarrassing amount of rangers! No wonder Germany is so ticked.

And then a baby got eaten by wild dogs at a zoo, and I was like, noooooooo. Don't tell me about the babies! I seriously can't handle the babies.

But still,  it wasn't over. One day,  I listened to talk radio. The angry kind. 
And I liked it. 
Don't tell Jake. He'll never let me live it down.

And now, I feel sort of dirty.
From all the news.


Feel free to leave me comments to welcome me back to the internets! I've missed you!

Why am I blogging at midnight? My kids will be up soon and want me to make them cinnamon toast on white bread that we don't have.

Hi there. School is out. Which is good. I'm not complaining. But I am very tired. I need more stamina. I think I can achieve this by eating more chocolate covered bananas and zucchini-banana-coconut bread made out of our baseball-bat-sized zucchini.

I think I need to go to Fry's and buy more bananas.

Sam's teacher decided to have a science fair the last week of school, so we baked cookies on the dashboard of my 91 Integra. It was nearly 250 in there.

We burned the second batch. Even so, he won the science fair! And the language arts award for his class.

Ross was named 7th grade student of the year for his class. This was also surprising, considering the smarty-pants school he attends. But not totally shocking, as everywhere Ross goes, people seem to chuck blue ribbons and crystal apples and assorted plaques at him.

He also designed a catapult with a few of his friends for his term project:

It was designed to launch fruits, veggies, or tennis balls. It was pretty much the best thing that happened in school all year.

Jane finished out the year with an A average, and Tommy graduated from Kindergarten. It almost didn't happen, because at the last moment, he freaked out and wouldn't put on his cap and gown. We still aren't totally clear on what happened, but we think he decided he wasn't wearing a dress. Once he saw all the other boys wearing their own dresses, he came around.

So now, there is nothing to do but swim, play Minecraft, try out new chore schemes I read about in parenting books, and watch YouTube.

Yes, I bought it on itunes.
Enjoy.

The good news is, I didn't get a baby rat for Mother's Day.

Well, now. Mother's Day is over and I got just what I wanted: lots of stuff to put on my blog.

But first, I need to address what I have seen out there on the internets: lots of ladies who feel guilty or disappointed on Mother's Day. To those who feel guilty: seriously? Knock it off. You know what you should feel guilty about? Feeling guilty. You are probably the ones who spend all your time cleaning, cooking organic meals, and taking your kids to the park (why? When I was a kid, and bugged my Mom about being bored, she told me to go get my razor blades and play in the street. She was mostly kidding. And also, she took us to the park a lot. So I'm not making my point very well. Oh well). Listen, ladies: You've done enough. Just once, you should do like me, let the house go to crap over the weekend, eat lots of cake and candy (that your husband wasn't supposed to buy for you, because he knows about your candy problem and how you are losing your P90X momentum ), gain 4 pounds overnight (from the sugar, I guess), plug your toddler into Elmo (Mis-ter Noodle!!), light the vanilla candle your 13-year-old bought you as a symbol of his mother-devotion so you can't smell what is stewing down there at the bottom of the kitchen sink,
 

and spend some time on the internet. You know: Pinterest, Facebook, or some blogs. Yours, or someone else's. Alternately, you could go back to bed. I know all the other bloggers are telling you to unplug, go spend more time with your families, but if you are lucky like me, most of your kids are in school for like another week, you can't go outside because it is 107 degrees, and you just need to plant your rear in your desk chair and enjoy the silence (and the Elmo's World theme song.) You probably won't sit down again until August.

Guilty ladies, are you nervous? Let me assure you that somehow, stuff gets done. For instance, I just discovered that my just-turned-two-year-old knows all his letters. He doesn't talk, but he is a letter savant. Or maybe the other kids taught him. Who knows? All I'm sayin' is, stuff gets done, and I didn't do it. (Some stuff. Not all of it. He doesn't seem to know G.)

To those who feel disappointed on Mother's Day: seriously? Don't you see how this holiday is set up to fail? You aren't ever going to have both breakfast in bed AND a clean kitchen, both a nap AND all the small, cherubic children, both a day to yourself AND lots of wonderful grandmas with which to celebrate, or both a lie-in AND the chocolate covered strawberries they passed out in eight a.m. Sacrament meeting. Haven't we learned by now that 'having it all' was just a terrible lie inflicted on our mothers? That we can definitely have some of it, whatever part we want, really, us lucky-duck American women; but wanting it all, especially all at the same time, is miserably exhausting and will only make us angry. (Although, I will forever be grateful for the right to wear pants. Even if mine don't usually fit.) So anyhow, I suggest you, like me, play the Mother's Day you were dealt. Revel in it, even...

First of all, on Friday night, I got an almost-date. We took Jane with us to a wedding reception, where there was a photo booth and PIE. That's a good time, people.

On Saturday, Tommy remembered:
Hey! Tomorrow is Mother's Day. 
We should get something for you. 
Like maybe a pet? 
Would you like a baby rat?

Sam made me a fantastic coupon book at scouts, plus an origami vase with tissue flowers. The coupon book is beautifully illustrated. For instance, the coupon promising breakfast in bed has a bed in profile, with an unseen hand cracking an egg onto the crumpled comforter (I don't make my bed. But I don't feel shame about it.) 


Jake made me an omelette. It had cheese and bacon in it. He also sent me flowers. Like 100 of them. The ones I liked from Valentine's Day that lasted for a whole month. Then he got all the boys ready and took them all to Church at 7:30 cuz Ross has to set up chairs. Jane and I were still late. I do feel sorta bad about that. Why is 8:00 so early? Why am I so slow? Is it because I have to wrestle into the spanx?

Jane gave me earrings and a new necklace. This was just lovely. Having a daughter is very nice, sometimes. I'm not gonna lie to you.

After Church, Tommy handed me a card, which he had allegedly dictated, with his Primary teacher acting as amanuensis, which told me I looked beautiful. But then the next line said, Thank you for all that you do. The syntax seems a little fishy, no? Plus, no mention of rats. So, you know,  I have to wonder about the true authorship.

Sam came out of Church bearing a flowering plant in an attractive yellow ceramic pot.

From his pocket, he produced this:

 Here, Mom, he says, and hands me the chopstick/card (sans plant). This is for you. Happy Mother's Day!

When we got home, he took the plant to his room.

I find this extremely enjoyable. Is that wrong?

After Church, we ate lunch with my Mom and relations, then drove out to Glendale to have dinner with Jake's Mom and all the Beeswax crew. Before we left, I told Ross to get Tommy to fill out one of those forms- you know, how old is your grandma, how much does she weigh, the kids are supposed to get it wrong and it supposed to be hilarious- but Ross wasn't getting the humor, and Tommy wasn't getting it at all.

Ross: Why do you like going to Grandma Beeswax's house? 
Tom: To play with Coco (Coco is a wiener dog).

Ross: What color are her eyes?
Tommy: Brown
Ross: I'm pretty sure they are blue.
Tommy: No.
Me: Ross, just write whatever he says. That's the point of the exercise.

Ross: What do you do to show her you love her?
Tom: I rub her belly while she lies on the couch.

Ross: Huh?
Me: I think he's still talking about the dog.

On the way home from Glendale, Jake started playing deejay, and I asked him: Is this my Special Mother's Day Playlist? He grinned (sort of evilly), and then grew very serious.
It went something like this:

Video Killed the Radio Star (Buggles)
Super-Connected (Belly)
Seasons of Love (Rent)
Fancy Dancer (Bread)
Wildflower (The Cult)
Dancing with Myself (Billy Idol)

How was your Mother's Day?
Did you receive any live gifts?
What would be on your Special Mother's Day Playlist?

See you there?

I'm going to Utah today. Going to the BYU with all the other ladies for the Women's Conference. I'm pretty excited, and not just cause I get a break from kids.

The other reason is I get a break from P90X.
Oh. And all the nice classes they provide are lovely, too.

In the past, my goal has been to eat my way across Utah County, but I am going to admit, this hasn't brought me as much gastrointestinal joy as I had hoped. So I am hoping to take it easy this year. I am only going to eat creamery milkshakes, mint brownies, five courses with four desserts, and pastrami burgers if I feel like it, and not just because it is the right thing to do.

This is what I look like right this minute. If you see me there, say hello to me. I would like to shake your hand.

You double dog dare me?

Hi there again. I'm back because I realized that I like it when bloggers post stuff even if it isn't super interesting, so I'm thinking I should try that for awhile. Because I'm trying new stuff and it's working for me. Just like how I took your advice and got off my treadmill and started P90x and stopped eating buns on my In-n-Out burgers, which always seemed really stupid to me in the past but is actually medium tasty, and now, thanks to you, I've lost 2 pounds! I'm pretty full of myself these days (but sadly, completely empty of delicious bread, cookies, and treats of all sorts, so also pretty cranky) because of my recent success, and so now I have a new and open-minded view of the world; so, if you've secretly always wanted to dare me to do something crazy, this is your chance!

But what's that? You need more information? Like weird stuff I've already done, and gross stuff I absolutely won't do?  Let me help:

I have already eaten snails. Dozens of them. I find them, like everything else in garlic and butter, delicious. Ditto frogs.

I will fer shur doll myself up 1950s style, and start drinking and smoking:

Mad Men party

I won't eat live bugs.
I will consider eating dead bugs which have a heavy milk chocolate coating.

I've already been swimming in the submarine lagoon at Disneyland. This was in the pre-Nemo days. I wanted to wave at the people on the ride (spoiler: you did not really go 20,000 leagues under the sea), but a cranky old lady at the Kodak Special Moments photo opportunity site ratted us out us to a kind Disney employee, who begged us to stop molesting the giant animatronic clams, but didn't kick us out of the park. Even better, nobody contracted Hepatitis!

I will totally wear a coconut bra on my birthday:

Or to the ward Halloween party.
Will I wear a pencil skirt? No. Grass skirt? Yes.

I will not have another baby on a dare.
But if you have a baby, I will go to the hospital and take 200 photos of it within 2 hours of its birth:

Introducing my new nephew, Liam Taylor N., who joined us March 29th

I will not let you lock me in a box with lives scorpions (or snakes). Or even bunnies.

I do not want to be locked in a box.

I think I already tried para sailing. I honestly can't remember if I went, or if I just sat on my cabana chair in Cancun and considered it. That's weird, right? But it was a really good vacation, and I was so relaxed and guacamole-stuffed I was in a low-grade coma, which might explain the amnesia.

I will not get a Brazilian wax.

I will put that Brazilian wax on my hair to make it straight and shiny. (Does this confuse anybody else?)

I will also get my whole family up in western wear, but I will choose to be a 'proper lady', and not a 'naughty madame'.

To sum up, I am willing to try all sorts of new stuff, especially if it involves dressing up and looking ridiculous, "bringing it", photographing it, or wrapping it in lettuce. But I am unwilling to try new stuff involving bugs and reptiles or tight spaces.

So what do you dare me to do next?


What about you? What have you done on a dare? 
(I especially want to hear about the things of which you are ashamed.)

I hate my treadmill. But I love cookies.

So, hello there friends!

It seems like forever since I've been here. That's because time goes very slow when you're not eating cookies. See, to you it probly feels like no time at all has elapsed. You've got a cookie in your fist right now, dontcha? It's peanut butter, isn't it?

So, yeah, it's still Lent, so I'm cookie-free. Except one time, I accidentally ate like half a sleeve of oreos before Jake was like: Hey, aren't those cookies? And I was like, oh yeah, I guess they are. I mean, they are cookies in the way chocolate chips are chocolate. But then I stopped eating the alleged "cookies", and I've been clean ever since.

And since Rice Krispie Treats are clearly TREATS (is in the title), I don't have to tell you about the pan of those I tucked into last night (was lucky myfitnesspal allowed me to enter in my consumption in fractions of the whole pan instead of silly squares. Who has time to count that high?) But really, in general, I have been eating stuff like spinach smoothies and protein treats (not real treats, and definitely not cookies), consuming a measly 1400 calories per day, and riding my treadmill like it was a wild stallion in need of breaking.

That simile was super creepy.

Anyhow, so now's the part when I should tell you that with self-control and hard work, I have achieved FITNESS and baggy pants. But I haven't! I have lost 1 POUND. And even that is questionable. Could be hormones or dehydration. Seriously, people. I got on the treadmill. I watched the Today show like 30 times. (Don't want to ruin shows I actually like with exercise). Was a little like hell.

Fine. I will admit that although I am not any smaller, I do feel like I am a little bit less flobby. Which is helpful when wearing knit maxi dresses, but does not help with my pants that feel like prisons. The bright side, of course, is that it is 85 degrees outside, where I can frolic in knit dresses, the warm sun on my face, and tuck all the offending pants away on my highest closet shelf (need a ladder to access this shelf), safe from view until November.

(Except for Women's Conference in April. Because stupid, cold Utah requires pants. Goodness. Does nothing ever change? I was wrestling with these same stupid pants last year. No, I didn't get new pants. Why should I? I know better than to wear skinny jeans. When this whole skinny jean madness is over, I'll buy new pants.)

Anyhow, we're all good. Jane turned 11, Joey 2. Ross went repelling, Sam is a Bear Scout. Tommy wows us daily with feats of strength, skill, and coolness some of the rest of us lack. Jake decided to keep the 77 Land Cruiser, which is in a bazillion pieces, and restore it. He took the body in to paint it: sky blue. To match my eyes. Nah, to math his eyes. Okay, I don't think anybody's eye color was really a factor in his decision making. My sister is having a baby on Thursday, and I can't wait to get my paws on him. I reminded Jake that we met 20 years ago, on March 14, 1992. (I reminded him on March 22.) We headed down to southern Arizona for Spring Break: Bisbee, Tombstone, and Kartchner Caverns. Was a good time. Photos next time? I planted my garden. 16 tomato plants, plus lots of peppers, squash and zucchini. Okay only 2 squash and zucchini, but is lots. You know how it is. There is only so much zucchini bread a lady can eat.

Okay, tell me some dieting horror stories to cheer me up. Or tell me what I'm doing wrong. (Besides the Rice Krispie Treats.)